


Check the Cards

by Catzgirl



Series: Keen and Cunning [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Established Relationship, Graphic Description, M/M, Major Character Injury, Prophetic Visions, because they haven't really been in the campaign a ton yet, but i'm a sucker for that, had to utilize the Google for this one, molly uses his tarot cards, of injury and violence, slight spoilers for episode 7, trope, who knew there was so much meta about gnolls?, ya girl is back at it again with the angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 01:06:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13823238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catzgirl/pseuds/Catzgirl
Summary: Molly ignores his foresight and everyone suffers for it.





	Check the Cards

**Author's Note:**

> So I was looking at the wiki page for Gnolls and found out that they have, besides Pack Leaders which are just strong gnolls that take charge of their fellows, these creatures call Flinds that are war band leaders???  
> And I was listening to Up the Wolves by the Mountain Goats??  
> And I really wanna see more fics with Molly using his tarot deck?  
> So I wrote this. Sorrynotsorry.

* * *

If it feels like it happens quickly, it's only in hindsight. 

Gnolls, because Jester's Traveler apparently has no mercy to spare. Nott is on watch when they ambush the camp and her warning scream comes just in time to ensure that all of them are armed and armored, but not early enough that any of them are fully awake. 

Which doesn't make a difference in the end. Once the adrenaline kicks in, once he's dragged his swords up his back to activate them, once he hears the first  _twang_  of an enemy longbow any sense of drowsiness snaps out of him. 

Carnival folk know better than most: always expect the unexpected. 

Jester howls, "THIS IS THE STINKIST OF DOOTIES," as she sends an ethereal lollipop careening into the heads of several gnolls, smacking into a hyena that Beau's kick has sent flying for good measure. The gnolls rise with renewed snarls, the hyena stays where it lands. 

Beau's snark follows it, "That's not exactly how I'd put it!" 

"Less talkin' more killin', please!" And there's Fjord, falchion locked with what seems to be the pack leader, until a blast of crackling energy bursts from him to knock the almost eight-foot monstrosity back a bit. The half-orc heaves a breath, rolls his shoulders, leaps back into the fray. 

Mollymauk has killed one already—he's not flyin' it, of course, but at least there's no Manticore. That's the thought he has as he flicks a gnoll body from one blade, swipes at a charging hyena, turning as he goes so he can track each companion as they sound off, because carnival folk know better than most: It's not over 'til it's over. 

His eyes just touch on Caleb and Nott, back-to-back in the center of camp, picking off monsters with spells before they can breach the perimeter the rest of their group has formed. The closest to them, Yasha, sends a gnoll-head flying with a single pass of her greatsword for daring to get within reach. The gnolls are already dwindling, and they seem to shy at the wizard and his goblin rouge, guarded by a raging barbarian, and if it means that they end up on Molly's blade instead... Well. Some things are their own reward. He lets his gaze wander to his next victim, content with the knowledge that although this certainly is not ideal, it's not as disastrous as it could have been. 

He has the time to laugh at Jester, to yell to her, "This is clean on!" He locks his two blades with a ghastly-looking piece of work, more skin and bones than muscles but still towering over him, says, "We'll be finished in time for breakfast!" 

He claims to have the gift of foresight through his cards, and if it were true (it is) his deck would have begun laughing in his bag (he later finds The Fool face up, waiting for him,) but he's two-blades-deep into a gnoll fight without a hand to spare for prophecy, so it takes him completely by surprise when the would-be-victim looks over his shoulder and grins and bellows, " ** _Reinforcements_** ,"so close that Molly can smell yesterday's human on it. 

"Fuck," he curses, holds his parry with one blade, swings the one gleaming with ice straight into the wanker's abdomen since it's at such a convenient height for emboweling. "We're got more company!" And it's more warning than is necessary, because the others are all already shouting in alarm as a fresh pack descends on the camp with an additional pack leader, even though Fjord still hasn't managed to kill the first, and carnival folk know better than to count their chickens before they're hatched, so more fool to him for trying. 

He doesn't have time to think for a long while, after that. He gives himself to his blades; they glitter and gleam in the light of a waning moon and a smoldering fire, twin death-carvers that he will, if pressed, say are his only loves (besides Caleb, but that's a conversation for a day with extra time, the one thing money can't buy,) but he'll laugh as he says it. His heart beats in time to the scimitars so that the rest of the camp, the world, smears into a hazy mess of  _strike_  and  _don't strike_ , into the sort of fog that he's always been good at but that battle sharpens into just another weapon. He spent almost all of his time, those first few weeks of carnival life, fighting his way to clarity. It's not lost on him, ever, that he  _has_  to slip back into it in order to carve evil shit out of the world. 

So he's more than a little blood spattered when he finally is able to come up for air, when he has more than a split second to blink the sweat and bits of gore from his eyes. There's bodies—everywhere. He feels every inch the demon-born Tiefling he's told he must be as he twirls, and there's an exhausted Jester doing a quick battle-patch on Yasha; and there's Fjord moving his hex from one gnoll to another before slashing it to ribbons, and there's Beau bounding off a tree so she's eye level with a hulking mutt before she breaks its neck, and there's Nott lying prone as the remaining pack leader advances on her, and there's- 

Wait. 

" _No_ ," and it's mostly breath, barely a word, as he starts a sprint that he already knows will come up short. He throws his effort into the next one, doesn't care if it comes out warning or wail, " ** _No_**!" Molly knows, though, that the world cares just as much about him as it does about anything else (and the biggest secret of carnival folk is that no one, nothing, is  _forever_.) 

Caleb would do anything for Nott, he knows, and not only because she's saved his life a handful of times. Caleb would do anything for Nott because that's the sort of man he is (coincidentally, it's the sort of man that Molly loves, but that's a conversation for a night without watches or fighting, which are in short supply,) and Nott is the creature of his heart, they all know. Keeping Nott safe is Caleb's greatest honor, is equal parts the source of any happiness not derived from Molly and his form of repentance for some he won't speak of. Nott is prone at the feet of a creature that can easily gore her from end-to-end, and Molly has no idea what time it is, how long they've been fighting, but Caleb's hair gleams red in the breaking light of dawn when he steps between the claws of the—not a gnoll at all, Molly realizes, some memory in the back of his horns surfacing—Flind and his little goblin companion. 

If it feels like it happens in slow-motion, it's only in hindsight. 

(The Fool is face up in his deck, laughing at him when he finds it. He's pulled the Magician and the Tower for himself in recent days, and he knows better than to ignore the fucking cards but, Gods, he'd  _hope_ _d_.) 

(And more fool to him for daring to.) 

The claws fall and land true. He is so clever, so quick witted, and it does nothing to make him any faster. He can't fathom why he'd left Caleb's side at all, and it seems that Caleb won't have a side to leave- 

No. Too soon. 

His voice is like midnight and thunder when he howls, in Infernal, to the Flind's back: " ** _Your heart in payment for mine_** ," and it's a good deal rawer, more honest, than he'd meant to be. 

But fucking Flind's don't know Infernal, so it can't mock him as it turns, startled and ears pasted back in fear from the devilish tongue. He throws himself at it with his own scream ringing in his ears, and he's only barely skimmed it with his blades when it collapses in a heap of flames. 

Nott is sobbing, is frantic, is bodily on top of Caleb, is clutching the two sides of his wounds together with naught but her own hands as the wizard pours every bit of power he has into a final fireball. The flind's scream almost dregs up sympathy but—well. He leaps over it, lands with his knees in the dirt and hands already fumbling for the healing potion he keeps on his person at all times. 

" _A_ _chroi_ ," he murmurs, unstopping the vial, "My pulse," he soothes, and pours it down Caleb's throat. 

His favorite blue eyes have gone clouded, Caleb stares past him completely as his very organs begin the process of knitting back together—not enough. Gods be damned but it's not enough by a long shot. Without a second thought, Molly is on his feet and sprinting towards Jester, is going to take whatever she's fighting and turn it into so much pulp while she puts Caleb's insides  _back on the inside_  godsdamnit, and he swears to purchase only  _greater_  healing potions from now on, budget be damned and every God along with it.

Jester is pale with effort, but nods at his instructions, is turning to go as Molly slides into a defensive stance and prepares to rip into a bloodied trio of gnolls when her scream nearly fells him. 

Caleb is on his feet (he has pulled the Magician and the Tower, but that was  _for himself_ , not for this not for this not for this except that  _this is happening_ ) and there's things leaking and hanging from his grimy coat that are not meant to be touched by the light of day, and his eyes are far-away as they usually are when Caleb burns something to so much ash, and Jester is screaming because he's standing in the middle of the clearing of rabid gnolls like a doe gone to slaughter, except most does don’t come with a diamond in hand, aren't usually sending acid into anything that has fur and draws breath. Most does trot to slaughter and are happy for it: Caleb is on his last legs or less than.

Molly screams and isn't sure if it's in common or Infernal, isn't even sure what he says but nearly takes a shortblade to the chest for his troubles. He has to watch, has to keep an eye on Caleb who gets trapped in his own skull and needs help getting out, but he also has to  _survive_. So he whirls to the pieces of shit that are keeping him from his wizard, pulls at the power in his core and orders one of them, " ** _Defend_**." 

The other two give surprsied yelps as their fellow lays into them, dropping its sword and flinging claws and teeth at its brothers. Between them, the pair are dispatched with ease and it only takes a single blow to the neck to finish his thrall off. 

It hasn't even hit the ground by the time he's back at Caleb's side, kneeling beside Jester and Nott who have somehow got him back on the ground, and Jester's hands are glowing white and things  _in_  Caleb are moving, rearranging into what Molly assumes is their natural order, but—Gods. It's a lot. 

That Caleb is screaming incoherently the entire time doesn't help matters. 

Mollymauk still doesn't know Zemnian, but " _Nein_!" and " _Bitte_!" and " _Es_ _schmerzt_!" are in his repertoire. He takes Caleb's hands in his own, hold them down while Nott lays on top of his legs, trying to give Jester the space to work, but—Gods. It's a lot. 

The other Tiefling is already sweaty and pale beneath her blue complexion and none of them have slept enough. She groans, "Really, dude, I could use a little more help here!" as the glow around her hands dims. As if in apology, it flairs even brighter at her words, persists for a few moments through Caleb's thrashing and Nott's wailing, and Molly's steady chatter of, "Oh, my dear,  _a_ _chroi_ , Caleb, it's okay, it's us, it's okay," but it's not, obviously. People with the kinds of burdens that Caleb bares can't be dragged out of their mental fogs by the entrails without serious repercussions, and he knows that from personal experience.  

(He pulled the Magician and the Tower for Caleb. He had hoped that if he'd told himself, told the cards,  _for me, for me,_ _self divination_ _, it was always meant for me_ , that he could have fooled them. Later, he'll find the Fool face up in his deck with the Emperor under it, upside down, the figures frown turned into a mocking smile, and he'll throw both cards to the floor in anguish. 

He'll pick them up, hours later, because it's his own fault. The cards gave him fair warning; he's the one that chose not to take it.) 

"Guys," Beau says, and the Monk is bloodied and battered from head to toe as she leans over them, "You guys he's in  _pain_ ," and Molly snarls like the animal he fucking is because like hell is anyone else laying hands on Caleb right now. 

Yasha takes her girlfriend by the arm, tugs her back so that Fjord can take her place, one hand extending an unstoppered health potion, "I don't want him to choke on it." 

And, fuck, but can't he catch a break? He glances at Jester, who's hands are still glowing, and it's not a good sign that she nods and says in a voice totally lacking mirth, "Yes, please, the more the merrier with this one." The flesh beneath her hands is still raw and angry, there's at least the first twists of muscles, Caleb's body cavity is not actually open to the air anymore, but that still lands them firmly  _in_  the woods. He makes sure it's in Common when he says, "Caleb, dear, I'm sorry," as Fjord takes one arm from him so he can grip Caleb's face and force his mouth open. 

What the fuck has Caleb been eating? That's his next thought when the human's thrashing renews, and Yasha has to come forward herself to hold onto his legs as Nott goes flying. Fjord manages not to spill a drop, though, and pours every bit of the red liquid into Caleb's mouth as Molly begs, actually crying, "Caleb, drink it dearest, you have to, Jester's knackered, you have to drink this now, come on Caleb," and then he realizes that Fjord is crying too, and Jester, and  _fuck_  everyone is crying and that is  _not_  a good sign. 

When Caleb passes out, it's almost a mercy. They don't have to fight him anymore as they try to piece him back together. The sun is fully up when Jester falls back with a gasp, says, "I have to sleep. I've done all I can." She looks to Molly, violet eyes scared—but not of him—and she repeats, "I have to sleep." Then she scampers away to a bedroll. 

Yasha is the one to scoop Caleb up. Fjord takes Molly by the arm as Beau collects a silently rocking, weeping Nott, and helps him limp to where Caleb's bedroll still lays. Yasha sets him down with eyes on Molly still, as if he's the one they need to be worried about. 

He curls around the too pale, too filthy, idiot wizard and drapes his silk coat over the both of them. 

"He looked cool as fuck," Fjord says, "With all that fire and shit shootin' outta his hands." Then he dusts his knees off and takes his leave. Molly finds himself oddly comforted, but no happier for it. 

" _A_ _chroi_ ," he says, " _My heart. My pulse._ " He does not lay his head on Caleb's chest, which still moves in breaths too shallow for his liking. He does not dare move or rearrange the other man, only sets his chin in the crook of Caleb's neck so he can hear his pulse, each throb a tiny promise and declaration, "Come back to me, my love." 

(He doesn't need to check his deck for confirmation just yet. In hindsight, he'll realize he already knew what they'd show. He is a Fool, without doubt, and as arrogant as the smug Emperor accuses him of being. 

Let this be his warning, then. He will not make the same mistake twice.) 

**Author's Note:**

> I really struggled leaving this as an open ended piece?? I'm probably gonna write a part 2 of fix it fic if I can get it up before the next episode/ if the new episode doesn't have some earth-shattering, character-altering revelations in it that would make this whole thing moot.  
> As always, holla at ya girl at fenesvir.tumblr.com where I scream into the fandom abyss! Sometimes it screams back.  
> Don't be afraid to comment and tell me if you loved it, hated it, felt indifferent to it! Or if you catch a funky typo, feel free to let me know.
> 
> I know that Taliesin said Molly has a custom deck, but it was easier for me to just use a general deck. I did look up and choose each mentioned card purposefully! I thought about posting them here, but figured I'd let readers look up the various meanings and decide for themselves what the cards were trying to tell Molly.


End file.
